


Boundaries

by DiamondScribe (DiamondSuits)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, F/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 21:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6210148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondSuits/pseuds/DiamondScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Blight is over, the Archdemon is dead, and Alistair finds himself to be the happiest man in the world. That's what he thinks, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boundaries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EmiWanKenobi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmiWanKenobi/gifts).



Alistair had never thought that he could love these lazy days. After the things he’d seen, the idea of a cozy life seemed almost abhorrent to him. And why wouldn’t it be? He'd seen people torn apart by greed. He'd seen friends fall when they could've been saved. He'd seen the shrieking armies of the damned, heard their spitting and snarling and, in some deep dark part of himself, responded in kind. All of it, from the deaths to the nightmares to the constant call for blood spoke of one simple fact: that the life of a Warden left no room for comforts. They served, they protected, and then they died. There wasn't room for anything else.

And yet here he was, indulging in luxuries. The sight of his private bathing room with its fine Orlesian rugs and heated water was enough to give him pause sometimes, but didn’t he deserve it? The archdemon was dead, peace had descended upon Ferelden, and the dreadful song that had bound the Grey Wardens together finally fell silent. It was a strange and wonderful thing to rise up from the body of the archdemon to hear nothing but the cracklings of the great fires it had summoned. He'd had the song of millions of clamoring darkspawn in the back of his mind for so long that he'd almost forgotten what it was like without it.

And Maker, was it wonderful. It was like having a veil lifted from his eyes, like seeing a world of greyscale suddenly lifted into vivid color. He could feel something without the ever present sense of panic in the back of his mind, and could finally, finally sleep (not to say that the nightmares stopped entirely, considering that he had been in a bloody war, but it wasn't enough to keep him from sleep for days at a time). After that, the simple luxuries didn't seem so bad anymore.

Not that he over indulged on the luxuries he had. It was all kept in the sort of moderation his simple upbringing had demanded, with few exceptions... One of which being the baths. He was still dripping from an hour long soak by the time he entered his bedroom, the cozy space made warm by the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. The heat of the water had done wonders on the weariness in his shoulders and thighs; a day of doing drills and sparring with his new men in arms always did leave him sore. Being captain of anyone (even Arl Cousland's personal guards) would have never seemed so appealing to him before, but there was a sort of camaraderie here that rivaled even the connection he had felt with his former wardens. They were all nice enough, good to have a drink and a laugh with, but serious enough to get down to business when the time came... Not to mention good enough warriors to leave a few bruises scattered along his scarred body.

Alistair tossed his towel aside, giving his damp hair a tousle before dropping into bed. Though the whole set-up had been too soft for him at first (living on the road with only thin bedrolls tended to do that to you), now he stretched to enjoy every last luxurious inch of the feathered mattress. Maybe a nap wouldn't be too amiss. Just an hour or two, then he could wake up just in time for his nightly session of Wicked Grace with the small band of rogues. Though Zevran and Rydel usually won, maybe this time he and Leliana would find a way to beat them. He could win something nice if the betting was good, a pretty bracelet or some new gauntlets...

He hadn't realized that he'd dozed until he heard the creak of his door. A sound like that would've had him jumping for his sword, but the war had ended ages ago. The tapping of light footsteps against the stone was enough to know that he wasn't in any danger at all.

"Well, you certainly seem comfortable."

Robyn's gaze on his skin was almost tangible, bringing a warmth to his body that had absolutely nothing to do with the patch of sun he was lying in. Just to tease her, he made a point to roll his shoulders, knowing she would have a perfect view of his muscular back, his legs, the swell of his ass beneath the corner of the sheet. It was a fairly confident move (and one he didn't used to be likely to make), but he supposed things changed when you had a wife.

And he had a _wife_. Sometimes even he couldn’t believe it.

"You are right about that. Try the bed, it's lovely."

He drowsily chuckled when he felt lips on the back of his neck, burrowing his face into a pillow to hide his smile.

"Tickles," he complained, though he didn't do much to chase her off.

"Does it, now?"

Alistair could nearly hear the mischievous smile in her voice as her nimble fingers trailed low, brushing right up against that one sensitive spot near his ribs. With a sputtering laugh of protest, Alistair wriggled around, grabbing his wife and yanking her down. The play wrestling was his favorite part of this; it gave him the chance to press his body against her own, to feel her strength, to watch her eyes light up with playful delight. The fabric of her dress felt wonderful against his bared skin, drawing shivers and grunts as they wriggled against each other.

Finally, he managed to roll her over and pin to her to bed, their faces scarcely an inch away.

"I think I won," he smugly observed, though his attention was more on Robyn's mouth than his victory. Noting this, she suppressed a smile, fluttering her eyelashes at him in a way that she knew made him melt.

"Then how about you claim your prize, good Ser?" She tilted her head slightly, just enough so those soft, pink lips barely brushed against his own. It was all the invitation Alistair needed. A hand roughened from years of battle cupped Robyn's cheek as he leaned in, finally kissing the breath from her. His world narrowed down to sensations; the brush of her lips, his hand on her cheek, the tug of her fingers in his hair. She kissed him so soft and sweet, surging up to meet him again and again. Lips parted, the air punctuated by only a hitched breath here and a soft hum there. It was like they had years to touch and taste, time enough to let the flames of desire slowly build and build... Though really, it was more of a glowing warmth than an outright burning. It was like the sun had become trapped in Alistair's chest and was filling every last bit of him with warmth and comfort and light. Was this what being in love felt like?

"You're doing that thing again," she murmured against his mouth, her lips curling into a smile against his skin. He hummed in lieu of an answer (it was hard to speak when he was chasing her down for another kiss). She giggled, allowing him just a peck before she was tilting her head away, ignoring his whine of protest. "You're thinking too hard," she playfully scolded, tapping Alistair's nose. "And what's to be done about that?"

"More kisses?" Alistair gave her his best pair of puppy eyes, only to chuckle when she shoved him back.

"I think not." She rolled him onto his back, smiling as she set a hand on his chest. "Not there, anyway." Alistair's breath caught in his throat when rough hands drew down his sides, drawing down down down until they rasped against his sensitive inner thighs. It was all it took for desire to stir low in his belly, for his cock to fill.

"Robyn," he breathed. It seemed difficult to say anything else as her lips brushed along each scar that scored across his chest, until she was sucking a mark onto the soft part of his belly. Her low laughter seemed to echo in the space around them even as her lips closed around his cock. All he could feel was heat surrounding him, the softness of her hair under his hand, the light behind his eyelids as she took him deeper and deeper...

And, distantly, he heard someone screaming his name.

His eyes flew open, and, confused, he propped himself up on his elbows.

“Did you hear that?” he asked, lips pursed as he stared at the door. Who could possibly be shouting for him at this calm, afternoon hour?

“I didn’t hear anything.” Robyn pouted up at him. “If you’re so distracted, then clearly I’m not doing something right.”

Alistair frowned.

“No, darling, of course not, it’s only-“

Apparently his protest wasn’t good enough, because a moment later she returned to her task with renewed vigor. A gasp caught in Alistair’s throat as he sunk once more into the pleasure she offered him, his moans growing louder and louder as her hands freely roamed. It seemed she knew just what to do, from the tightness of her lips to the way she relaxed her throat, and Maker, the way her hands came up and cupped his balls with the perfect amount of pressure… He was a mess beneath her touch.

“Robyn, please,” he keened, squeezing his eyes shut. There was the screaming again. Robyn’s movements halted for just a moment (just long enough to elicit a whine from Alistair), before her hand was on his shaft, expertly twisting the base as she swallowed around the head. It was so easy to forget the world and accept everything she offered him, to twist a hand in her hair and direct her with a confidence he never had. And Maker, it was so perfect, and he was so close, so close…

“Alistair!”

In that moment, the door busted open so hard it nearly ripped from its hinges. The change was instantaneous. Like water from a busted dam, all color and warmth drained from the room, leeching away everything until it was cold, and dark, and damp, and he was sure that he heard some sort of inhuman screeching. Whatever it was, it certainly didn't help with the pounding in his head. Alistair became aware of shouting as he tried to prop himself on an elbow, blearily gazing at the room around him.

His vision didn’t snap into stunning clarity until he met a pair of wide blue eyes.

Robyn was staring at him, her eyebrows drawn together and her lips pursed in the way they did when Alistair hurt himself as she kneeled down to consider him. But- it wasn’t right. She was in her armor, not a fine dress, and Zevran was there, and Rydel, and Wynne, and-

“Alistair?”

She touched him then, and the feeling of her warm, rugged palm against his skin was both the greatest pleasure and worst torture. Confused, he jerked his head back, his mind ten steps behind as he tried to process what in Andraste’s name had just happened.

“Where…?”

Robyn’s lips pursed a little more at the question.

“We're in the Circle Tower, remember? We've got to clear out the demons?” Her voice was gentle in a way that he didn’t like, as if she was speaking to a toddler instead of a fully grown almost-Templar. Even so, he nodded, wincing as a hand rose to rub his forehead. The memories were there, but they were hazy.

"I remember, I think. We were just fighting a few shades on the stairwell to the third floor, and..." And what happened then?

Robyn watched him expectantly for a moment or two before providing the answer herself.

"You became separated, remember?" She gently reminded. "We've been looking all over the tower for you. We thought you would be a goner by now." She went on to explain just how they found him, but Alistair found it hard to concentrate. There was something going on behind her shoulder... When Robyn leaned forward to touch his cheek, he finally saw it: the wide, sightless eyes of a fallen demon. Nausea overtook him as he took in the wickedly curving horns, the well-endowed figure, the whiplike tail; it took drawing his knees up to his chest and some very deep breathing to keep himself from being sick in that moment.

A desire demon. It'd shown him what he most wanted in that world, something he didn't even know that he wanted. And Maker, the way it tarnished Robyn, took someone so wonderful and perfect and twisted her into fitting into Alistair's own sick fantasies... He heavily swallowed, his breath catching as he pressed his face into his knees. It didn't help when he could practically feel her concern. The weight of her hand on his shoulder was too much, too stifling.

There was murmuring above him, something about being 'concerned' and 'fragile' and 'maybe it would be best for him to stay'.

"No," he interjected, his head snapping up. He was a Grey Warden, for Maker's sake. He had a debt to fulfill for Duncan, for Cailan, to the friends and companions he'd lost along the way. His personal demons would have to wait.

"Are you sure?"

Alistair kept his eyes firmly on the floor as he righted himself, set a hand on the pommel of his sword.

"I'm fine," he said, not looking at her. "Just fine."

**Author's Note:**

> Developing new OCs is difficult; instead here's EmiWanKenobi's Robyn Cousland with Alistair. Hope I did her some justice :P The Rydel mentioned is my Dalish elf warden. 
> 
> Feel free to send prompts, critiques, and other nonsense to my main, [diamondsuits.tumblr.com](url). Writing specific tumblr is currently a WIP.


End file.
